Ford and Willow
by Stevie the Ice Queen
Summary: See Author's Note.


_Please enjoy the beginning of the single most underrated couple in all of Harry Potter Fandom. An OTP of inanimate proportions. Yes, my friends. I am speaking of the Ford Anglia and the Whomping Willow.___

_Note: I do not own Harry Potter. We hold no responsibility for any eye-gauging, mental-scarring, or brain-breakage that may occur during the reading of this work of fiction. Those unable to appreciate such beauty should stop now and live their miserable lives falling in love with real humans. Losers.___

_And now, without further ado...The Beginning. _

The air was chilly behind Hogwarts. The students had spent much of the day outside, throwing snowballs at each other's heads and breaking them apart in mid air with spells and counter-spells. But the night had fallen, and the students, red faced and frost bitten, had retreated to their common rooms for an evening in front of the fire, complete with blankets and hot butterbeer. Even Hagrid, alone in his cabin, had Fang to keep him company. But the creatures, both the living and not-so-living inhabitants of the Forbidden Forest- had no such luxury in the night.

The Ford Anglia was used to cold. Cars spend so much time outside or in unheated garages as their owners laugh and dance in comfort. But no matter how common cold is to a car, it doesn't become pleasant to freeze at night.

In its near-frozen state, without a set of keys to start its heater and bring life to its engine, the Ford Anglia shivered aimlessly through the forest, rolling over roots and smashing the few remaining leaves with the harsh rubber of its tires. As the tree limbs beneath it fell and twisted under its weight, the Ford Anglia grinned (or so it would, had it a face and moveable features), relishing the ability to destroy nature when it wouldn't fight back.

As if answering his inanimate, anthropomorphic thoughts, Ford heard a roar in the distance. Ford stopped rolling and listened intently. Was it Hagrid, finally finishing the evening meal? A werewolf? A giant spider? Filch, having a bit too much to drink? He listened again. The roar continued. It was she.

Ford listened, his seat cushions warming without engine or gasoline. He couldn't understand his appeal for this creature. The first time he met her, her bark was her bite, and he felt it as surely through the cold metal that coated his exterior as any other being with feeling senses could have. Having never really felt before, this sensation was new to Ford, and he couldn't decide whether to speed in joy or stop his engine in terror. As it were, he couldn't do either while her harsh branches penetrated his most sensitive areas, puncturing his tires and ravaging his now enlarged air bags, forcing them to shrink as the air expelled from their ruined skins.

Ford, having a wizard owner, was able to regenerate to some extent after this brutal yet delicious attack on his being. His metal body no longer felt a fraction of the pain that he felt deep inside his engine, longing for just one of her tiny tendrils to slip inside his exhaust pipe, setting his spark inside aglow with heat that he could no longer expel. As she roared again in the distance, he resolved to accomplish just that.

Ford rolled as silently as possible through the trees, twisting and turning to avoid telltale crushing noises as he slipped over some of the more prominent roots. The roaring was getting louder as he got closer, and as his front headlights began to inadvertently glow in anticipation, the roaring stopped.

Ford lifted his front bumper slightly and looked into the distance. He heard nothing but the wind through the trees and snow, but as he turned off his headlights and waited, the moonlight illuminated the most beautiful, sensuous sight his broken front license plate had ever witnessed.

She stood, frozen in the distance. Where all the other trees were covered with snow, she had none. Around her roots, the ground was swept bare, as if even the snow had been driven away with fear.

Ford inched slowly forward. One small root stuck out of the ground at an angle high enough to tickle his headlights. Silently, cautiously, he drove as close as he possibly could and, as gently as his engine would let him, he ever so slightly brushed her limb.

With a deafening roar, the ground below him shook. His alarm went off and he tried to reverse as quickly as possible, but it was too late. She had awoken.


End file.
